Past Victorious
by Galadriel1010
Summary: Ianto finds himself tumbled back in time by the Rift, but a bit of good luck and quick thinking help him to land on his feet, ready to help the next wayward traveller. Written for LongLiveIanto Bingo 2012
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:**Written for LongLiveIanto Bingo 2012. Prompt: Unexpected Time Travel.

Summary: Ianto finds himself tumbled back in time by the Rift, but a bit of luck and quick thinking has him on his feet and ready to help the next wayward traveller.

* * *

Cardiff had changed a lot since he left, the night after his dad's funeral. The Bay redevelopment had turned the grotty, dangerous docks into a mini-Canary Wharf, full of glass and concrete. He wasn't much more fond of it than he was of the actual Canary Wharf, but it was a vast improvement, especially in terms of drinks availability. Shaneand Tilly and Ben had met him down there and dragged him around their new haunts, and then abandoned him in the Waterguard - reconstructed after its move not long after he left. They all lived within walking distance of the Bay, now, in moderately expensive flats that overlooked tidied-up docks, but Ianto still had to get the bus out to the estate to get back to his sister's.

He paused on the bridge and looked down into Roald Dahl Plass and the flashing, changing light pillars. His breath fogged in front of his face and the soft but determined drizzle was soaking him, so he had the area to himself. London was never this quiet, even in the pissing rain, and Rhiannon's house certainly wasn't with two toddlers around, so he was enjoying the peace and quiet whilst it lasted. The lights reflected off the wet floor, both the decorative pillars and the neon glow from the restaurants overlooking it. A brighter light appeared behind him suddenly, dispelling some of the fainter reflections, and he turned to face it.

Too late, he realised what it was and started scrambling back. With the rail fo the bridge behind him he couldn't get far enough away - a drop of that height onto a wet, slippery floor didn't count as escape, and the water on the boards made him skid and crash into the rail hard. Winded and gasping, he pushed away from it again, staggered backwards, and was suddenly blinded by the brilliant, burning light...

"You alright, lad?" An Irish voice asked him. "You took a nasty fall, there."

He blinked up at the face looking down at him and noted the clothes. The man, probably no older than he was, wore a grimy flat cap on unruly and dirty auburn hair. His face was lined and weatherbeaten far beyond his years, and smudged with mud and oil. His clothes were rough and serviceable, brown and grey predominantly, a shirt that couldn't keep the weather out and coarse woolen trousers, and heavy boots that had seen plenty of wear.

"I... yeah." He looked around and realised he was lying against a crate, close to a large hole. "Must have been knocked over..."

"It's them carts. Don't care who they hit." The stranger reached down and offered Ianto his hand. "Let's get you up. Don't want them lovely clothes getting dirty."

"Thanks." Ianto let his rescuer pull him to his feet and swayed a bit for effect. "I must have hit my head or something. Do you mind if I just sit down, for a moment?"

"Not a jot, mate. Look, I've got to get back to work, but the foreman's office is over there." He pointed at a hut at the end fo the hole, which had its door firmly closed and smoke rising from the chimney. "I assume that's who you're looking for, or he'll know where to find whatever it is. Name's Andrew O'Sullivan, by the way. If you want to mention it." He winked at Ianto and ducked behind another ballistic cart, disappearing into the busy melee that was digging the hole out.

Ianto realised that it was the West Bute Dock under construction. One day it would be filled in and paved over, and he would stand there and watch lights reflected on the wet floor. One day, not for a very long time. It was completed in the first few years of Queen Victoria's reign... 1838, '39? He rubbed his head, which was genuinely sore, thanked his lucky stars that he'd dressed up a bit for a night out and wasn't in jeans - not that his polycotton trousers were any less anachronistic - and cursed Torchwood and all it stood for. Would stand for, as it hadn't been founded yet.

The good news was that there was no one to come after him, because he wouldn't have wanted to fall foul fo early Torchwood. The Archives held some pretty brutal stories, and humans were as likely to be the victims of their wrath as aliens were. But without Torchwood, he was almost certainly stuck.

He pushed that to the back of his mind and wove his way through to the office, knocking firmly on the door. It was opened by a short man with pinched features who looked him up and down and tapped his pipe against the doorframe. "You'll be the Marquis's man? Thought he wasn't sending you till this afternoon - you had a fall or something?"

"A brief argument with a cart," Ianto agreed. "It won, which should teach me a lesson. My fault."

"Certainly was, sonny. Come on in." He waved Ianto in and shut the door, but didn't offer him a seat. "You'll know Mr Carmichael?"

"Erm, no. New today." He looked at his grimy hands and held them out. "I'd offer you my hand, but I'm a little the worse for wear at the moment. How do you do?"

"How do you do," Carmichael responded. He was a taller man, better dressed and better fed than any of the other men Ianto had seen so far. His accent was refined and elegant, and his hair flopped in what was surely the fashion of the day. "I appreciate it, I can't risk the plans getting damaged, you see."

"Of course." Ianto folded his hands behind his back and tried not to cough at the smoky atmosphere. "What was it you wanted me to deliver?"

"You're early, so you'll have to wait. Jones is just doing a final tally of the men on the site for the day. For the moment, you can make yourself useful by holding this light for me." Ianto did as he was told and took the lamp to hold it over Carmichael's notes. "What did you say your name was?" the architect asked absently.

"I didn't, but it's Ianto, sir. Ianto Jones."

"Another Jones," he sighed. "Your people have less originality than the Fenians. Can't be helped, I suppose - it's all a result of inbreeding."

Ianto raised his eyebrows and stayed silent on the matter. Londoners opininons of Wales hadn't much improved over the years, but they were at least more tactful about it.

He stood like that for half an hour or so, getting armache, until a scrawny young man dragged the door open and limped into the room. "Got the figures for you, Mr Watts. Is this the Marquis's man?"

"It is, Jones." He took the heavy ledger book from him, gave it a cursory look and handed it over to Ianto. "You can take that straight up to the Marquis at the castle. at least you being this early means that we can pay the men on time, for once."

"I'll get it up there as fast as I can," Ianto assured him.

"You'll get it faster than that." Mr Watts pointed his pipe at Ianto. "And get the money back down here sooner than possible."

"Yes, sir." He ducked out of the still-open door, paused to get his bearings and set out up the rutted track that led towards the centre of the town and, somewhere on the other side of the smoke and fumes, the newly rennovated castle.

Cardiff bore little resemblance to the city he knew. One long street led up from the hustle and bustle and industry of the docks, through the wetlands to the town itself. Development was starting all along the road, but Cardiff was still small, barely developed. The castle towered above the town, surrounded by the newly-cut sandstone walls. The main gate was open and a steady stream of people were coming in and out, so Ianto tugged his fringe, and ducked through, keeping his head down as much as he could. Sooner or later, someone was going to realise that he wasn't from around here, and the closer he got to people who knew the fashions of the day the more likely it was to happen.

A sallow youth looked him up and down disdainfully and raised his eyebrows pointedly at Ianto's hair. "Where's your hat?"

"Had an accident with a cart," he explained. "I think it's probably in the dock."

The youth harrumphed and shook his head. "You want to be more careful down there. What's your business, anyway?"

Ianto held the ledger up and waved it vaguely. "Reports from the dock for the Marquis. Mr Watts sent me with it."

"You're early. We weren't expecting it until this afternoon. Be quick with it, he's very busy."

He nodded and strode as fast as he could in the direction that the youth had gestured, then hesitated. A maid emerged from the kitchens below the new house and pointed him in the right direction, and he bounded up the stairs into the library, where a handsome man in early middle aged was sifting through a mountain of papers. He looked up when Ianto entered, took one look at the state of him and laughed. "Good heavens, boy. What happened to you?" he asked, with a soft Edinburgh accent to his well-heeled tones.

"A cart," Ianto said mildly, amused by now by the story. "We had an argument, it won, and my hat lost."

"I can see that. Has Farnleigh sent you?"

"Watts, Sir. With the figures." He held the ledger out and the Marquess took it with a sigh. "Sorry, Sir."

"And so you should be." He looked over them and shook his head. "Alright, my opportunistic little friend, come back in an hour and I'll give you the docket. If you don't come back, you don't get paid."

"... Sir?"

"I recognise all my workers, and you are not one of them." He gave Ianto a stern look, but it was ruined by the sparkle in his eyes. "So you're new - I don't mind, I appreciate a man who can see opportunity and get the job done. What's your name?"

"Ianto Jones, Sir."

"Well, Ianto Jones, keep you nose clean and you'll go far." He flipped the ledger open and started work, dismissing Ianto with, "Now go and find yourself a hat, and avoid carts if you possibly can."

The West Bute Dock opened to much fanfare and celebration in October 1839, and the teams who'd built it got a tidy bonus from the Marquess before they packed up and shipped out to work on railways, canals and roads across the country. Ianto waved Andrew off and watched the crowds dispersing back up to the town, or to the building works that were springing up faster and faster around them. The Marquess raised one eyebrow at Ianto and went back to ignoring him, as he had for much of the last two years, and Ianto smiled to himself, settling his hands deeper into the pockets of his thick coat.

Winter was settling in, and with the dock project complete Ianto needed to find something new, or find somewhere new. He had a small bonus, like the rest of them, enough to keep him over the winter if he chose to stay in his current lodgings, or enough to get him to London or further, to Paris or Amsterdam. What he lacked was direction, and that was nothing new.

A stately gentleman in a top hat, leaning on a cane and the arm of his daughter, was making his way past Ianto towards a waiting carriage. Ianto stepped back to let him pass, but turned back when an idea formed. "Mr Jenkins, sir?"

"Yes? Aren't you the Marquess's clerk?"

"One of them, sir," he confirmed. "Or I was. I heard that you were looking for an assistant in your shop."

"Well I am, but I don't know that I need a clerk's skills, and I don't have time to train you." He looked Ianto up and down. "Can you sew, boy?"

He smiled slowly. "My father was a master tailor, sir. I learned at his knee."

"Well that's different." The old tailor looked at his daughter, who smiled back. "Be there on Monday at 8am sharp. I'll give you a week's trial - unpaid, mind - and we'll see how you do."

"Thank you, sir. I'll see you on Monday." He stepped back again and tipped his hat to them. "Goodnight Mr Jenkins, Miss Jenkins."

"Goodnight," she returned his smile, "Mr Jones."


	2. Chapter 2

Ianto raised his glass to the landlord and slid away to his usual table in the corner. The gas lamp above his seat cast enough light for him to be able to read by, and he leaned back against the wall so that he could read it and keep half an eye on the comings and going over the top. It was a busy pub, but far enough away from the docks that it got a better class of clientele than the wharf rats, ladies of the night and short-stay sailors than some of the bars down there. Which wasn't to say that Ianto was averse to spending time in their company - particularly that of the ladies - but it didn't make for a quiet night out.

A London businessman was discussing the day's trade with his assistant and one of Ianto's neighbours a couple of tables down, and the usual town crowd of shop workers savouring their one drink of the night and the factory owners deigning to rub shoulders with the lower classes packed most of the others and the bar. Molly May was sitting on her own in her corner, watching the shop boys and waiting for any of them to be brave enough to come to her, and Ianto tipped her a wink when she looked his way, getting a salute of her sherry in return. Another night he might have gone to 'keep her company', but for now he was content to read and watch the world go by.

The door opened with a slam, and everyone turned to face the strange figure standing framed by it. His features were cast into a ghoulish shadow by the flickering light above the door, and his tight white T Shirt and black trousers set him far apart from anyone else in there. Ianto lowered his book to join everyone else in staring at the stranger, who prowled across the room to the bar. Men pulled their wives and daughters back from him and positioned themselves between him and them, but he ignored them all and leaned on the bar. "I'll have whatever will get me drunkest," he announced in rolling American tones. "And then you can pour me into the gutter."

A low hum of conversation started, and Ianto raised his book enough to be hidden by it whilst still being able to watch proceedings. The stranger was now better lit, and Ianto could see that his trousers were actually leather, and his hair was equally anachronistic. He contemplated going over, but as the landlord pulled out a bottle of his strongest whisky and poured a large double, he settled back into his seat to watch the show.

The stranger drank for two hours, faster at first as he discovered just how vile the whisky was, and then slower as he got more used to it and less steady. He hadn't said a word since ordering his drink, just signalled for more, and more, and more, and didn't look like starting any time soon. The pub was emptier now, and Ianto knew that the story would already have spread around half the town, but as the stranger struggled to find the counter to put his glass down he knew it was time to make a move.

He closed his book and slipped it into his coat pocket, then took the coat off and folded it over his arm. Weaving between the tables, he reached the bar and clapped his hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm impressed, I've never seen anyone drink that much."

"Thanks," the man slurred, fixing Ianto with an unsteady gaze from startlingly blue eyes. "I... Captain Jack Harkness, and who are you?"

"Jones the Tailor. Ianto Jones." He turned to the landlord and tipped his head in the captain's direction. "I'll take him off your hands, Harry. If the police want him, you know where to find me."

"Thank you, Mr Jones." Harry shook his head. "I'll put your drinks on his bill, shall I?"

Ianto laughed and shook his new friend's shoulder. "Come on. Let's pour you into bed - it'll be a bit more comfortable than the gutter."

"I'll be..." Harkness stumbled when he tried to stand up and shook his head like a dog. "Thanks, appreciate it. What is that stuff?"

It took a moment for Ianto to decipher the slurring, and he used the pause to get the captain's arm around his neck, just in case. "It's rotgut. Gets everyone that way." He raised his eyes to heaven and nodded to Harry. "Now let's get you horizontal, shall we?"

Harkness slurred something in response, but Ianto had no clue what it was, and didn't much care.

****

Ianto pulled the magnifying glass over and leaned in, focussed completely on the buttonhole he was sewing. Buttonholes were his speciality, if he said so himself, and it was partly because of the set up of mirrors and lights that allowed him to see it in closer detail than any of his competitors. That was why he did them all upstairs, where they wouldn't visit and see his set up. He'd been developing it for thirty years, and he wasn't going to let his advantage go at this stage.

There was a thump from the next room, and he sighed. Shoving the magifying glass out of the wa again and dousing the lamps, he put his sewing away and had got to the doorway by the time his unexpected guest had stumbled onto the landing. "Good morning," he said. "Sleep well?"

Harkness stared at him and looked around. "No. Where the hell am I?"

"Jones' Tailors, Cardiff." He closed and locked the door and leaned on it. "Wales, Earth. And the year is 1869. Does that help at all?"

"I only needed the address, thanks." He ran a hand through his hair and looked slightly sheepish. "Thanks for last night, if you dragged me out of the pub. What the hell was I drinking?"

"Rotgut. Aptly named. Do you feel up to eating?" Harkness shook his head, looking thoroughly miserable now, and Ianto smiled. "Well, you're welcome to stay as long as you like, Captain Harkness."

"Jack. Call me Jack. Unless that's..."

"I don't mind dispensing with the formalities. It'll be nice to have someone around who won't notice if I drop an anachronism - although the dialect is fairly well trained into me by now." He lit his pipe and narrowed his eyes at Jack. "What year are you from, then?"

"Pardon?"

"Oh please. Cotton T shirt and leather trousers, not to mention that science fiction wrist strap you're wearing." He crossed the landing to the kitchen and cut himself a slice of fruit cake. "Twentieth century or later, probably much later."

"Huh." Jack was in the doorway, and with the light from the windows Ianto could see just how washed out he looked. He had barely more colour than his, admittedly grubby, T shirt. "I bounced around a lot. Wasn't meant to be here, but I seem to be stuck now. Was aiming for the twenty first century, so you were pretty close. How did you end up here, pretty eyes?"

Ianto glared at him for a moment, then shoved most of the slice of cake in his mouth and enjoyed the queasy look that stole across Jack's face. Once he'd finished it he waved the last of the slice. "Cardiff has a Rift in time and space - you know it?" Jack nodded and he continued, "Well it got me. I was only home for Christmas. Landed here thirty years ago, can't get back and haven't aged a day."

"Shit."

"Tell me about it, but at least I won't really go missing." He watched Jack some more, whilst Jack watched him, and sighed. "Look, I have to open the shop soon, and you look like you're about to fall over. Go back to bed, stay there for the rest of the day, and then I'll come and get you?"

Jack nodded obediently and looked pleadingly at the glasses on the shelf. "Please can I have a glass of water, mummy?"

Ianto laughed and reached for one of the glasses. "I'm a Good Samaritan, not your mother. You can tidy your own bloody room."

The back room of the tailor's shop was where everything happened. Rolls of fabric were stacked on a table that was buckling with their weight, skeins of thread hung from a peg board that ran all along one wall, scissors and measuring tape and chalk littered every shelf, and two half-finished suits were pinned to mannequins that faced out onto the street, like sightless watchmen.

Ianto collected his tape up and pointed to the stool in the middle of the room. "Stand there and do exactly as I tell you to. In here, I am lord."

"Yes, sir." Jack did as he was told, which Ianto could already tell was going to be a rare occurrence, and Ianto recognised the soldier's bearing in him. He watched Ianto moving around and rolled his shoulders once. "You seem to have a busy shop here."

"I'm one of the best tailors in Cardiff," Ianto muttered, distracted by his work. "And I returned from Paris less than a year ago, bringing all the modern fashions with me. Cardiff is a rising star, and the residents are determined that we're going to keep on rising. And to do that, they have to dress the part. All the gentlemen come to me to make them look like London lords, and I charge them a lot for it."

"Mercenary of you. They haven't figured out that you're not from around these parts yet?" Jack lifted his arm obediently. "Or, you know, apparently immortal."

"I don't mention it, and they either don't or choose not to notice," he confirmed, measuring Jack's sleeve length quickly. "I went away to Paris for a few years, and came back claiming to be my own son. I passed as easily for eighteen as I did for forty. Dress the part and wear your hair right and they'll believe anything. Legs apart, please."

"Now there's an offer I don't get every day." Jack leered down at him. "You're very calm about getting a time traveller on your doorstep; does it happen often?"

"Not really." He pushed Jack's legs back together and straightened up. "You can get down, now. I've not heard of any apart from me, to be honest. Cardiff's pretty quiet in that respect. Mind you, we get so many coming and going from the docks that nobody would notice - unless they stumbled into one of the more elegant pubs in town in leather trousers and proceeded to try to drink themselves to death, of course."

Jack acknowledged that with a grunt and went to lean on the edge of a table, out of the way. "Long story."

"I've got a long time. And you're not going anywhere fast."

"True." He sighed heavily and folded his arms. "I was travelling with friends, and they left me behind. I know they come here to refuel, and that the twenty first century is the best place to find them. Figured I could catch up with them." He lifted his arm and flipped open the leather cover on his wriststrap. "This is a time machine, you see. Doesn't look like much, but it usually does the trick. Only this time... Well, I'm over a century out, and it's broken."

"Some would consider that inconvenient." Ianto put the fabric he'd been sorting down and leaned on the table opposite Jack. "Can you fix it?"

"No." He shook his head and dropped his arm. "In 2000, maybe. With a top of the range lab and a couple of scientists. Here and now, with a tailor? No offence, but unless you have a soldering iron and a nanotech workshop, I'm out of luck."

Ianto nodded sympathetically. "How far away from home are you?"

"Home?" Jack laughed and shook his head. "Don't think I have one of those. A long way though, wherever it is. I guess I'll... have to get used to the nineteenth century."

He looked so dispondent, although he was clearly trying to hide it, that Ianto's heart went out to him. "You'll be okay," he assured him. "You've got me - that's more than I ever had."

"Thanks, Ianto." Jack smiled back weakly. "You're a good man."

"And a better tailor." He shoved hismelf upright again and collected the fabric together. "Let's get you looking a little less foreign."

****

Jack smoothed his hands down over his waistcoat and turned to study it in the mirror. It was a dark blue, fastened nearly to his bow tie, which was made out of a narrow ribbon. His shirt was off-the-peg, but it wouldn't be seen under the waistcoat, and his trousers were made from a slightly darker fabric than the waistcoat. A double breasted jacket finished the look off, made form the same fabric as the trousers and lined in the same silk as the waistcoat. He accepted it from Ianto, who helped him to put it on, and turned once more to look at himself in the mirror.

"Wow," he pronounced at last, when nothing else occurred to him. "I look..."

"Like a Washington gentleman," Ianto finished for him. "You'll have to borrow one of my hats for the moment, but we'll get you one of your own soon enough."

"I don't suit hats," he murmured, turning to admire himself again. "Hey, why is my bow tie different to yours?"

Ianto sighed, putting away the last of his tools. "It's popular in warmer climes, and gaining popularity in America. It will add to your image of a rich, foreign eccentric."

"You can do that with a bow tie?"

"You can do anything with the right accessories." He closed the last drawer and folded the fabric away. "It's not just about dressing with the fashions, it's about dressing with the right fashions. I've climbed my way up Cardiff's social ladder, and I've climbed up the fashions accordingly. That's why I have so many hats."

Jack nodded and accepted one from him. It was a shorter top hat, somewhat worn but well cared for. "This was your first one, wasn't it?"

"Yes. My wife bought it for me." He nodded encouragingly. "Put it on."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Jack settled the hat on his head and frowned. "How long were you married?"

"Only five years." Ianto turned his back and went to the window. "Her father gave me a job as his assistant, and he left me his shop. Jenny died four years after him, and I kept it on for a while, then sold it, went to France and bought it back when I came back."

"So it's their name over the door?"

He didn't answer, and was business-like when he turned back. "I'll need to make you a topcoat as well, but the light is fading and I have paying customers to make for as well. My boots should fit you, and you have a suit and my hat. I have to work for a bit, but Mary will have left us some dinner..."

Jack caught his arm to stop him striding out of the room. "Ianto, thank you."

Shaking Jack off, he smiled back tightly. "It's the least I could do. Just don't make me regret it."


	3. Chapter 3

Jack left Ianto in his shop, schmoozing with the young businessman who had come to collect a suit from him. He strode out into the foggy streets and looked around, tyring to get his bearings. The shop was at the end of a row, with the apartment above it, and a selection of other shops next to it. Leading away to Jack's left was a long street with the castle just visible at the far end, almost out of sight around the corner, and ahead of him was one of Cardiff's busy stations.

Having been somewhat less than coherent when Ianto had dragged him back here from the pub, he made a mental note of the location of the shop and set out down the street towards the castle, an exploration and perambulation. A nanny was pushing her young charge towards the castle, with the undercarriage loaded with shopping bags. Three young women who in a century would be teenagers but today were very much ladies were going in the same direction, watched over by a stately matron who glared at Jack when he dared to look in their direction. He tipped his hat at them and kept strolling, past a butcher and a baker and a candle maker. A delivery boy came barrelling out of the butcher's and back in the direction Jack had come from, but the scene was otherwise quiet and grey.

Further down the road, will the castle now an imposing edifice taking up the whole end of the street, the glittering gold and jewels in a goldsmith's window caught Jack's attention. He paused to look in and then strode in, comfortable with the part of rich, eccentric American fresh from the colonies.

"Hello there!" He beamed and bounced up to the counter. "Say, do you buy jewels here?"

The jeweller sniffed and put down the necklace he was working on. "You mean jewels, or jewellery? Because I sell that, but I don't buy it. You want Jones the Lombard - pawnbroker to you, maybe?"

"No, I mean jewels." He laughed. "This time, anyway. I spent some time in India, you see, and they're just easier to carry." So saying, he pulled a brown leather bag out of his pocket and laid it on the table, hoping that they were all Terrestrial in origin. "They're mixed, but I just need some capital to get me settled in here."

Jones the Gold looked at him with raised eyebrows. "You don't carry money at all?"

"Not a chance. Pirates, you see," he added in a conspiratorial tone. "Little bag like that, much easier to conseal." He tapped his nose and the goldsmith nodded. "Of course, that's just the cut stuff. I've got more, but I don't know if you'd be interested in that?"

He shook his head. "Not my area isn't cutting... goodness gracious me." He'd just tipped the contents of the bag out onto a piece of cloth, and stared in awe at the glittering, shimmering array of colours. "Bless my soul."

Jack tilted his head on one side. "I... guess you don't usually see that many?"

"You could say that, you could." He shook his head. "I can't take them all, that's for sure. Not right now, at least. But if you sell me some now and then keep hold of them, I'll buy a few from you each month and I'll introduce you to my jewel trader and he'll get you a good price for your uncut gems he will."

"I couldn't ask for better," Jack said, knowing that he almost certainly could. "I'll let you take your pick then."

****

Jack emerged from the shop an hour later, richer in pocket and not dissatisfied. Jones hadn't given him the going rate for them, but he had given a fair price - eventually - and it wasn't like Jack needed to be completely flushed with cash for the moment. He had enough in his pocket to flash around and create an image, to open a bank, to give Ianto some money for the suit and for looking after him, and to buy himself a decent drink.

He went to the bank first and opened an account with the bankers draft that constituted most of the payment Jones had given him. The teller was somewhat taken-aback by it, but accepted it with grace and aplomb as much as he could. Once he saw the amount of money Jack was handing over, and heard his exaggerated tale of riches found in the Empire, he fetched the manager, who was obsequious and charming and made Jack (and his money) feel quite at home.

Emerging from there feeling pleased with himself and in dire need of a drink, he headed back towards the shop by a different route. He passed the market where traders hollered out their wares and stopped by the bookshop to buy a small book of poetry and a map of the town.

A few doors down from the bookshop was a pub, whose bright yellow lights lured Jack in with the promise of warmth and drink. He still didn't have an overcoat, and it was late enough in the year that thesmoke-laden fog carried a damp chill with it. People looked up as he entered and kept staring as he made his way to the bar, so he settled hismelf on a stool and smiled. "I think I'll stay away from the rotgut this time."

"I think that's probably wise." The bartender reached across and offered Jack his hands. "Rhys Jones."

"Jack Harkness." He shook it and leaned forwards on the bar. "What would you recommend, Rhys?"

"Try an IPA. Thomas's finest, and maybe more to your taste than a local stout." Rhys pulled one without waiting for Jack to answer and passed it across to him. It was golden in colour and seemed to catch the light, and almost completely without head. "Get that down you and see how you like it."

****

He had worked his way form the IPA to a bitter and then on to a mild. Quite a crowd had gathered to tell him exactly which was the best beer and why he should drink it, drawn partly by his outlandish stories and partly by the fact that he kept buying them drinks. The mayor's son, James, had settled on his right, and was regaling him with lurid stories of nights out in Bath and Oxford, matching Jack for outrage and for pints.

A policeman entered, taking off his hat and setting it on the table to indicate that he was off-cuty, but it was enough of a distrubance for the crowd to disperse and look busy, and Jack settled back on his stool with a laugh. "Had I known I could get that sort of excitement in Oxford, I would have skipped India."

"And had I known that India was so full of adventure and riches, I wouldn't have bothered going to university, but then we'd be sitting here in opposite roles saying the exact same thing." He raised a glass in Jack's direction and smiled. "Maybe this is the point where we should swap."

"Go to India," Jack told him. "It's so... the colours and the smells, it's just amazing. And the people! So welcoming."

"Rightly so." James sniffed. "They're lucky we stayed their after their disloyalty, don't you think?"

"I think it's far too rich for Britain to consider losing," he admitted honestly. "The things I've seen back home - you've heard about the Civil War, I assume? Well the things I saw there, in the South - barbarity. I'm pleased that Britain has taken such a strong stand against slavery, but it's getting too close to that for comfort in some parts of India."

"If it were to happen, the hand of the law would find them. Slavery will not be tolerated in the Empire, although no doubt some unsavoury types will resent that. Don't worry, Jack, it won't be like that."

"I wish I had your confidence." He settled his elbows on the bar again and looked into his glass. "This appears to be empty. What should I have it filled with next?"

"Try the stout." James raised his eyebrows at Rhys and passed his tankard over. "And I'll have the same." Their drinks were refilled and James leaned back to look at Jack. "You know, you are a fascinating man, Captain."

"Call me Jack, please." He smiled, all white teeth and seduction and leaned a little closer. "In what way would you say I'm fascinating?"

"Well, the things you've seen and done. The places you've been."

Jack purred. "I could show you, if you wanted."

James narrowed his eyes and backed away a little. "I say, steady on. I don't know what it's like where you come from, but we are not like that here, and I most certainly am not."

The policeman appeared behind them and tapped Jack on the shoulder. "Mr Carter's right, sir. I know you're new around here, so this is just a friendly warning, but we don't want that kind of talk."

He held his hands up. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to be taken that way, just a joke." He turned back to James. "Sorry, I meant no offence. I would be proud to show you India, though. The Raj are always looking for talented young men for the civil service there."

James nodded, but the cameraderie was gone and he made a show of checking his watch. "I would enjoy that, I think. I may stop by sometime this week, but I really must be getting hime. You're staying at the tailor's - Jenkins - I hear?"

"That's right." He finished the last of his pint and turned back to the bartender. "And he'll probably be wondering where I am. What do I owe you?"

He settled up and stepped out into the street, which was darker and colder now. It took him a moment to remember where the shop was, and then he set out in what he thought was the right direction, heading for an arcade he thought he remembered.

****

He broke the first rule of being in a strange city, and headed down an alleyway that he thought led back to the row that Ianto's shop was in. The footsteps behind him which had been deadened by the fog suddenly echoed around him, and before he knew it there were three figurs crowding him, shoving him into the corner. A fist smashed into his stomach and he buckled, cursing the Welsh beer and hospitality. Their boots were studded with hobnails, and he felt something crack when one of them slammed into his shin.

The beating continued, although the corner they'd forced him into did offer some protection. It wasn't enough, and he could feel blood running from cuts. The leader of the three leaned in and grabbed him, dragging him out by his collar and slamming him back into the wall. "You're not welcome here, Nancy. You can take your money, and your adventures, and you can shove them where you want them and get out of Cardiff. You understand me?"

He groaned and got another thump, this one to the head, that left him seeing stars and spitting blood. More footsteps echoed down the alley, and he felt himself suddenly released, slumping down the wall to his the floor hard. It jarred his leg and he yelped, but the lads were backing away and diappearing back the way they'd come, leaving him to his rescuer.

"Jack?" Ianto held a lamp up and cursed. "Fuck, Jack, what did they do to you?"

"Not nearly what Thomas's did to me," he joked, trying to shift into a more comfortable position. It didn't work, and lancing pains shot up his leg again, whilst his stomach throbbed and the stars kept dancing. "Okay, maybe not."

"The Barry boys," Ianto muttered, crouching down. "Bullies and hired thugs, all of them. You're lucky you got just the three."

"Just? How many of them are there?"

"Seven." He was checking Jack over, and finally came to the leg. "Do you think you can walk on that?"

"You must be joking." It hurt just to move it, and as they'd stamped on the other foot he had next to no chance. "Just let me..."

"Let you?"

"It's... not hurting as much." He moved it experimentally and found that it was now just excruitiating pain, rather than burning agony. Pins and needles were sweeping up his leg, almost like the bone was knitting back together. "This is very weird."

Ianto reached down and placed his hand over the break very gently. The light wasn't brilliant and it flickered across his face, but Jack could still see his shock and mild revulsion. "You're healing," he said at last. "Right here, you're healing."

He nodded and slumped back against the wall again. "That's more worrying than reassuring, I'll be honest." Ianto straightened up, and Jack held out his hand. "Help me up, and let's get out of here before they find the other four."

****

Jack sat on the kitchen table, stripped to his underwear, and let Ianto clean him up with an offcut of cotton and warm water. The cuts, bruises and scrapes were all gone, leaving just the blood and the rips in his clothes, which they were both annoyed about. He'd been quiet since getting hime, but he could tell that Ianto was waiting for the story. As Ianto worked on cleaning his arm, Jack started to tell him.

"I made a mistake in the pub, got a bit too flirty with the mayor's son. Didn't really mean it, didn't know I was doing it, but managed to offend him, annoy the police officer, and attract the attention of the Magnificent Seven." He poked the smear on his chest where a kick had threatened to collapse his lung and shrugged. "They told me to shove it up my ass and get the hell out here."

"You're going to have to be more careful," Ianto chastised him. "Sodomy was a hanging offence at the start of the decade, and it's still considered an abomination."

"What?" He shrugged Ianto off and glared. "You can't be serious?"

"Deadly serious. The last men executed for it died thirty years ago, but it was still the law." He grabbed Jack again and started cleaning his chest off. "And it's still illegal and punishable with a lengthy prison sentence. Just... be careful."

Jack shook his head and watched Ianto work. "I knew about it, but not... I didn't understand it. Still don't. And this is Cardiff justice?"

"For the crimes the law doesn't punish, and some of the ones they do." Ianto sighed. "Look, flirting is legal, but you'll offend people. The police can't charge you for flirting in a bar, much though some of them would like to, so they'll turn a blind eye to the Barry brothers' way of dealing with it. That's how Cardiff works, that's how most cities work these days. Tell me you'll be careful?"

"I will, I promise." He caught Ianto's hand to stop him. "Because you'll get in trouble if I do, won't you?" Ianto didn't need to answer, although he tried to avoid doing so. Jack let him go and dropped his hands to his lap. "You've been... amazing, and I don't deserve it. I won't do anything to threaten you."

"Thank you. And don't get yourself beaten up again, either."


	4. Chapter 4

November 1869

Mary bustled about around Jack, carrying food and utensils to and fro between the counters and the small pantry at the back of the room. He tried to keep himself out of the way, having dragged his chair into a corner of the room, but he still felt like there weren't many places he could be more useless. It was a month since he'd arrived in Cardiff and since the second night, when he'd been attacked in a dark alley, he'd not left the house for fear of someone noticing that he wasn't still injured by it. Sooner or later he'd be able to risk it, but for now he was ploughing through poetry and learning Welsh when Mary had a spare moment.

Downstairs in the shop the bell over the door rang, sending Ianto's morning customer on his way. Before very long they heard his steps on the stairs, and he came to join them in the kitchen. "That's me done for the morning," he said cheerfully. "And I have all afternoon to do the work, which makes a nice change."

Jack looked up from his book and shifted his feet out of the way. "What's this one, then?"

"Terry Atkins' lad has got a new job at the library, wants a new suit to make a good impression. Short notice sort of thing, so I'm going to push the other stuff back to the weekend, it won't harm for it." He dropped into the other chair at the table and leaned back. "I could do with another assistant, but I just don't have anyone on the cards at the moment."

"You could train me," Jack offered.

"As convenient as that would be, you're not sufficiently native yet, and do you know anything about making clothes?" He conceded that, and Ianto continued, "You'd be more of a hinderance at the moment, sorry."

Jack nodded and put his book away. "I figured as much. Are you ready for us, Mary?"

"Yes, sir. I'll bring it through to the parlour for you." She bobbed at him and smiled, and he followed Ianto through to the parlour in the next room. He still didn't understand service, but that was one of many things that made him, as Ianto had said, 'not native'. He also didn't understand why they couldn't just eat in the kitchen.

The newspaper was still in the parlour from breakfast, and as Ianto had had actual productive things to do with his day he picked it up and had a glance through it, discarding it when Mary returned to the room with bowls of potato and leek soup and freshly-baked rolls. She left them to it to return to the kitchen, and they set to eating with enthusiasm.

Ianto looked up eventually and nodded at Jack's book, which he's put on the corner of the sideboard. "What are you reading at the moment?"

"The Tale of Taliesin; in translation, of course." He reached across for it and passed it to Ianto. "It's one of Mary's, and quite old."

"Well the Tale of Taliesin is ancient," Ianto flipped through the first few pages and then handed it back. "The book must have been in her family for years, and it's not the sort of thing you're likely to find in the library."

"It's a good story, very catchy." He finished his lunch andrested his elbow on the table. "I'm nearly finished with it though. I'm running out of books."

"Well, I might let you out this afternoon," Ianto teased him. "Get you out from under poor Mary's feet."

"Oh thank the deities for that!" He felt guilty as soon as he said it, but couldn't really regret it. Reading wasn't his favourite passtime, and getting stuck with nothing else for that long had been almost more than he could cope with. "I need to go and see Jones the Gold, anyway; see if I can catch his jewel dealer before he goes back to London."

"I think he went last night. Abraham said he'd come over and see you this evening, but you might as well go and see him first." He leaned back to check that Mary was still in the kitchen and pushed the door to. "Look, I don't want to pry, but Abraham's a good friend - they are real jewels, aren't they?"

"As real as you or I," Jack assured him. At that, Ianto looked highly sarcastic, and Jack sighed. "You know what I mean. They're real, high quality and safe - most of them. I carry them because they're not as localised as currency. Most places will at least trade them for food and accommodation, and I'll get a decent price for them anywhere in the... British Empire." Mary entered at that moment and Jack raised his eyebrows at Ianto pointedly. "So they're not all from India, I've traveled around a fair bit, but they're all genuine."

"That's a reassurance, but please try not to let it get out." He folded his napkin away and looked up at Mary. "Have you got any errands to run to get Jack out of the house, Mary?"

"Well now, I have to go to the market, sir, but he could certainly carry my basket for me." She picked Jack's plate up and tutted over him. "It'll do you good to get out of the house and see the city. And I could show you around a bit more, if Mr Jones allows it."

"I'll allow it," he agreed. "Just try to keep him out of trouble."

Jack laughed and flashed Mary his brightest grin. "You can't keep me out of trouble - I am trouble."

"You can say that again, you can."

They left Ianto measuring and cutting fabric in the back room and stepped out onto the high street, with Mary's basket over Jack's arm. Winter was well and truly biting now, and the thick fog was icy cold, leaving frost over the few benches and the lamp posts. A few shopboys were returning to work after lunch and gave them polite nods of greeting, and Mary stopped to talk to one of them for a moment.

Jack was grinning when she caught up with him, and offered her his arm to stroll on down the street. "Who was that, then?"

"That's Tommy, the butcher's lad."

"Tommy Jones?"

She scowled at him. "Tommy Williams, Captain Harkness. We're not all called Jones, we aren't."

"Could have fooled me." He patted her hand and smiled. "But I'll believe you. So, Tommy Williams; is he a friend of yours?"

"He's a sweet boy, is Tommy. Lovely smile, and a wicked sense of humour he has." She laughed. "And he does such lovely cuts of meat. He gave me an extra two sausages the other day, and when I told him he'd made a mistake he said it wasn't a mistake and I was to keep them."

"Well then, he sounds like a keeper. Always keep a man who gives you sausage, that's what I say."

She blushed fiercely and released his arm. "There's Jones the Gold, sir. You wanted to visit him, didn't you?"

"That I did." They entered the shop and Jack set Mary's basket down on the counter. "Mr Jones."

"Captain Harkness, it's good to see you up and about again!" He reached across to shake Jack's hand firmly. "I said to Ianto, if anyone was going to run into trouble with the Barry brothers on their second night in town, it would be you. You're a trouble magnet and no mistake."

"I see I'm already getting a reputation." He grinned. "Mr Jones said you were planning on coming to see me, and as I've finally been let out of the house I thought I'd save you a trip."

"That I were. Mr Douglas was over from London, went home last night so you missed him; he was very impressed with the quality of your gems, especially those garnets and rubies. Beautiful colour and lustre they have, he says you've got an eye for red." He turned to the shelf behind the counter and brought down a stand with a necklace on it. A large deep red garnet was set as the centre of a flower, with the petals alternating gold, siver and mother-of-pearl. "This is one of your garnets, see. The piece is nearly finished, and I need to deliver it to the castle on Monday, for the Marchioness. She wants a new set of jewellery for the new season, and her daughter comes out next summer, so she'll be wanting a tiara for her and the jewellery and all of it."

"Sounds like a big job."

"That it is." He put the necklace away again and leaned on the counter. "And the Marchioness wants to meet you, she says. That James dined out on his story of meeting you for a week afterwards, maybe two." Jones tapped the counter. "Tell you what, why don't you come over on Monday, bring some of your jewels with you. Then the Marchioness can choose what she wants - you'll get a better price from her than from someone who knows what they're looking at."

Jack laughed. "Monday, then. Morning or afternoon?"

"Oh, morning. She likes to come by during her morning constitutional."Jones shook his hand again and tipped his hat to Mary. "Good day to both of you."

"Good day, Mr Jones."

Mary led him down the street towards the castle, pointing out the bakery where she bought anything she didn't have time to make, the haberdasher where Ianto got his threads and needles and buttons, and the toy shop that her little sister loved. Elegant arcades stretched away from the main street and hid book shops, tea rooms, bakeries, gift shops and everything else imaginable. Cardiff was booming, and everyone was in on the act.

Cardiff Castle was an imposing pile at the end of the road, swathed in fog and soot and standing proud above the town. The large gates were firmly closed, and a group of ladies walked sedately past, wrapped tightly in fur coats and mufflers for a chilly promenade, probably either to or from the gardens between the castle and the river.

They turned away from the castle, and Jack stopped by the library to return some of his books. As he was still reading the Tale of Taliesin he didn't get any more out, and Mary dragged him back out and to the market. It was busier here than anywhere else in the centre of town, with the unrelenting bustle of a lot of people all trying to drown each other out.

Mary ploughed her way through the market efficiently, casting her expert eye over potatoes and carrots, leeks and apples. Where she led, Jack followed, and he held the basket for her to fill it with what seemed like the entire contents of the market. Emerging out the far side, she finished off with two fresh coley fillets and led him back out into the cold.

They went home via the street parallel to the high street, which Jack had taken from the pub. He could see more clearly now than in the light of the guttering streetlamps, and took his time to look in the shop windows and explore properly.

He caught Mary up outside an art shop, where she was hovering thoughtfully. She looked guilty when caught, but he dragged her into the shop to have a look around and caught her looking at a tin of coloured pencils. ""For your sister?" he asked.

"Yes, sir." She blushed again and turned away firmly. "I'm saving up to get them for her for Christmas; she's a really good artist, she is. Does beautiful pictures of the castle, and I took her out to Penarth for the day over the summer, so she could draw the pier."

Jack smiled. "I'd love to see some of her pictures. I've always wanted to learn to draw." He looked at an art set that had some thick paper, coloured and graphite pencils and a set of oil paints in a beautiful wooden case. "Well, I do need a hobby."

March 1870

There was a knock on the door, and Jack moved aside enough for Ianto to get in to the room to stand behind him. He waited for Ianto's response and put a finishing flourish to his painting, then gave in and looked over his shoulder to see Ianto's expression. "Well?"

Ianto was worrying his lower lip, and had his arms folded over his chest. "It's very good. You've learned very quickly. Just... why is it on the wall?"

Jack shrugged and pointed his paintbrush to the window. "Because the view is a bit black and foggy. I wanted something nice to look at."

"I can understand that, but..." He unfolded his arms and gestured at the mural, which took up the entire wall of Jack's bedroom.

He'd had to move the desk and the bookcase against the other walls to be able to paint the whole thing. A clear blue sky reached to the ceiling, above a pastoral scene of gently rolling hills dotted with sheep and daisies, that curved down to an arc of golden sand lapped by delicate blue waves. Nestled in a wooded valley, to the left of the door, was a half-timbered, thatched cottage with blue smoke rising from the chimney and roses around the door. It had taken him months to finish it, and it was still only a broad outline, really. The colours and shapes were there, as if it were seen from a distance, but Jack had just started putting the details onto a gorse bush by the door.

"I'll paint over it if you move, if you want me to."

"No, it's fine. I like it, and I think anyone else would too." Ianto smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder. "I'm impressed, really. When you said you were going to learn to paint, I thought you meant watercolours in a sketchbook, not Sussex in your bedroom."

"Well, I was more likely to spot where I was going wrong if I stared at it every day," he pointed out, standing up. "I thought about continuing it onto another wall, or taking over another room. Maybe I could paint the Highlands in your room."

"I'd love to see one of your paintings in my room." Ianto took a step closer, keeping his eyes on the wall but encroaching on Jack's personal space. He rested his hand on Jack's arm and finally looked at him. "You have hidden talents."

"Sir," Mary called, and Ianto stepped away suddenly, out from behind the door so that he could see her. "I'm going to do some baking, I am. Is there anything you'd like me to do specially?"

"There is." He gestured at the wall and beckoned her in to look at it. "Will you save our walls and Jack's sanity and teach him to bake?"

"Mercy me," she breathed. "I've never seen anything like it, I haven't. I'll teach him, sir, but if he's as quick at learning that as he learned to paint, I'll be out of a job, I will."

"You'll always be better company than he is," Ianto assured her. "But he has to earn his keep somehow."

She laughed and bobbed at them. "I'll be in the kitchen when you're ready, then, Captain. Be sure to wash those hands before you even think about touching food, though."

Jack saluted, and waited until he'd heard her go back downstairs before he turned back to Ianto. "She wouldn't say anything, Ianto."

"That's not the point, and the risk is too big." He shrugged his jacket off and folded it over his arm. "I'm going to go and finish that suit for Owain Thomas. Have a good afternoon."

With that he was gone, and Jack growled as he turned to wash his hands in the cold water still in the basin from that morning.

September 1870

Jack cracked the last egg on the edge of the bowl, let the contents spill into the mix and discarded the shell with the other two on the counter. He brushed those into the bin with one hand and then picked up the bowl and started beating the eggs in with the thick paste of butter, flour and sugar. Mary was at the table making a rabbit pie, and he strolled around her as he mixed, peering over her shoulder as he went until she waved him away. A drop of violet oil into the batter for a twist, and then he gave it one last stir and poured the mix into a ready-lined cake box and pushed it into the oven, turning away and brushing his hands off.

"I'm sure it's bad luck for the bride to see the cake before her wedding," he told Mary idly, drifting up behind her again. "Isn't that what they say?"

"That's the dress," she corrected him, "and the Lord knows Ianto's taking no chances there, he isn't. I'll be lucky if I'm allowed to see it tomorrow!"

"We'll all get to see it tomorrow." Jack grinned and squeezed her shoulders. "Our little Mary, all grown up."

"I shalln't be your little Mary, anymore." She scoffed. "Not that I ever was, Jack Harkness." The new maid, who was replacing Mary after her wedding, appeared in the doorway and hovered like a frightened rabbit. "Jane, have you finished the beds?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then you can go downstairs and see if Mr Jones has a need for you, and if he hasn't you can go and do Captain Harkness's errands, you can." She watched Jane go and shook her head. "She's been a quick learner, she has, but not so fast as you. If I had a girl learned as fast as you I'd be as happy as anything."

"She'll take a lot of training before she can match you."

"That she will, and you'll not be here to do it." They both looked up as the bell over the shop door jingled and then went back to what they were doing. "It's going to be strange here for Ianto with me going and then you going too. I wish you'd stay a bit longer, I do."

"I think Ianto needs his house back." Jack checked on the bread dough that was proving by the range and turned it out onto the counter to begin kneading it. "It was fun whilst it lasted, and I'm grateful that he took me in, but it's time."

"Ianto doesn't want you to go."

"Ianto," Jack sighed, "wants things to be different. But if wishes were riches he'd never need to work again." He shook his head. "Time moves on for all of us, and we can but follow."

She nodded and set the pie on the cold shelf, where it would wait until her wedding cake was ready and it was safe to open the oven door. "I'm going to miss you."

He raised his eyebrows. "Miss me? Like you're getting rid of me that easily. I'm expecting to have a christening cake to bake before very long, and I'll have to come around for your tea - you know Ianto can't get it right."

"Christening cake before the end of next year," she promised. "And you know I'll always have the tea on for you."


End file.
